


Traditions

by Khaelis



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 10:05:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13656753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khaelis/pseuds/Khaelis
Summary: The Doctor always tries his best to respect human traditions.It's about time he realized Rose doesn't like them, though.[Prompt Fic | Valentine's Day]





	Traditions

**Author's Note:**

> Short one-shot that was inspired by the doctorroseprompt "be mine" on Tumblr!
> 
> I hope you'll like it, please let me know what you think! :-)

* * *

 

 

Rose yawned loudly and tugged on the hem of the tee-shirt that had ridden up her hip in her sleep. Still groggy, her eyes half-closed under the weight of the slumber struggling to dissipate, the only thing she could think about was the mug of hot coffee the Tardis would have prepared in the kitchen. Sure enough, a fresh pot was already sitting on the table with her favourite mug, next to a bright yellow note. She scratched the back of her head, a groan of annoyance cutting through another yawn when her fingers got stuck in a hair knot. She was quick to reach for the steaming mug and swallow a large gulp of the Holy drink, knowing it would be just enough to quench her morning bad mood. As she sipped on the dark liquid with a low hum of contentment, she eyed the note without much interest. Until he eyes fell on the top of the note that read  _ Valentine’s Day _ in tiny, hurriedly scribbled letters.

  
  


“Please tell me you didn’t do that,” she mumbled into her cup, following the list of things that were columned under the title - from chocolates and posh dinner, to flowers and tuxedo, every possible cliché was written down on the small piece of paper. “If you bought roses, I swear to God…”

  
  


She was interrupted mid-sentence when she heard a light ruffle of clothes and a pained whimper coming from the corridor behind her. She turned on her feet and was almost tempted to laugh when the Doctor walked in - well, limped awkwardly with his arms flailing around as if it would help him keep some semblance of balance. A wince contorted his features and he angrily tugged the untied bowtie off from the collar of his shirt.

  
  


“Please help me out of these,” he groaned as he fell down onto a chair and lifted his feet up to put them on another. “Stupid shoes are killing me.”

  
  


Rose looked down a his feet with a raised eyebrow and saw the allegedly offending shoes he was wearing. Black leather business shoes. It was only then that she noticed the black suit he was also wearing and the black bowtie he threw away in the general direction of the bin. 

  
  


“Does it have anything to do with this, by any chance?” she grinned, waving the note under his nose.

“Doesn’t matter, just take them off,  _ please _ ,” he muttered despite the light blush spreading to his cheeks.

  
  


Rose smiled and untied the laces all while laughing under her breath. She felt bad for finding the whole situation funny - especially when she saw just how swollen his feet seemed to be and the way his toes wiggled furiously as if he was walking on burning coals. But nothing amused her more than a Doctor who did his best to do conventionally human things and failed miserably every time. She thought that, by now, he would have understood it was never a good idea for him to indulge into _ human rubbish traditions _ , as he put it, as each previous attempt had somehow ended in a disaster.

  
  


“Thank the heavens,” he breathed out loudly in relief when both his feet were free of their leather prisons. “Never again.  _ Never _ .  _ Again _ .”

“I think you aimed for a size too small,” Rose pointed out, dropping the shoes to the side. “Thus, the blisters and the swelling. Why would you even wear that, Doctor? You don’t like that kind of shoes and they don’t really suit you anyway.”

“Well, thanks for letting me know,” he grunted as he massaged his sore extremities. “Now I know it’s no use putting on some ridiculous shoes to try and look good for you. Now I just feel like an ass,  _ again _ .”

“Okay, Doctor, what’s your problem?” she asked with a hand on her hip.

“My problem is I don’t know how to love you, Rose Tyler,” he growled, picking up the shoes from the floor only to throw them into the sink. “You make it too bloody hard. Why can’t you just tell me what you like, for once, eh? See, today’s Valentine’s Day, and I… I…”

“You?” Rose insisted when he struggled to finish his sentence.

  
  


He threw his head back with a long sigh of lamentation and rubbed down his face with his palm.

  
  


“I’ve just remembered you hate Valentine’s Day,” he whined, letting his head fall back down on the table, his forehead hitting the wood with a dull thump.

“Yes, I told you that at least a hundred times, just so you would never go through the trouble of… Well, this, for example,” she said with a smirk aimed at his feet.

“Yes, well, you still make it hard,” he complained loudly. “Really, Rose, why don’t you tell me once and for all what you like so I can try and be better for you?”

“Do I really make you feel like you’re not good enough?” she asked, her voice suddenly softening with guilt and worry.

“What? No, no, of course not,” he hurried to deny as he straightened on his chair to take her hand. “It’s just… I’m not well-versed in human romantic traditions and I’d just like to know what would make you happy.”

“I’m in a sentient spaceship flying through a Time Vortex with an alien who also happens to be the love of my life and the best lover in the galaxy,” Rose summed up, counting each fact on the tip of a finger. “I believe I’m way above human traditions, Doctor. And I love the way we are. I don’t ask for anything because I already have everything I could have ever hoped for. I am happy, I promise.”

“Really?”

“Yes, you dork, really. I love you, you should know that by now. And next time, just ask me if anything’s bothering you or if you want to know more about the  _ traditions  _ I like. Don’t wait until it’s too late for your feet.”

“Duly noted,” he sighed in defeat, leaning against the table as he pushed himself back up on his hurt feet.

“Good,” she smiled, planting a kiss on his lips before she finished her cooled coffee. “Now go take off that tux and put some slippers on. We’re not going anywhere today.”

“Isn’t there a tradition that stipulates we must help each other out of our clothes if any of us is hurt?” he asked with a falsely innocent wiggle of his eyebrow and a smirk.

“Not yet, anyway,” she giggled when he wrapped his arms around her waist and slipped his hands under her tee-shirt. “How about we make it official, hm?”

“Agreed,” he managed to nod between the dozen of small kisses he planted on her face and neck as they groped both their way out of the kitchen and any body part their fingers met. “Better than rubbish Valentine’s day.”

“Much better.”

 

* * *

 


End file.
